Safe
by wildwordwomyn
Summary: Morgan has a talk with Reid, causing fear and hope to blossom.


Title: Safe

Author: wildwordwomyn

Word Count: 948

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Morgan/Reid

Rating: PG to be safe

Author's Notes: Companion piece to pretty much every other fic I've written about these two. This can be read as a stand-alone or as part of my un-named series.

Disclaimers/Warnings: No spoilers. Angst. And a hint of more than friendship. Also, not real. If it was I doubt the show would last too long.

Summary: Morgan has a talk with Reid, causing fear and hope to blossom.

Hotel rooms aren't safe. This is a fact. Not because of 'stranger danger' but germs and bacteria. Spencer Reid has yet to stay in a hotel room that didn't beg for a good deep cleaning. Having to share on this particular trip with Derek Morgan only makes the urge worse. Not that Derek is unclean or anything. It's just…It's Derek. Luckily the man understands and watches Spencer wipe all available surfaces with a damp cloth he brought from home without comment.

Once done Spencer wipes his brow with his free hand. "Better," he says softly, blushing with embarrassment.

"Good…So, wanna see if we can get porn on the tv?" Derek asks, grinning when Spencer's blush darkens.

"N-n-no!" he sputters as he remembers the dreams he's been having of his colleague lately.

"I was kidding, man…" When Spencer moves from the bed where Derek sits to the bathroom doorway he sighs. "Dr. Reid, you're wound too damn tight…"

Spencer has nothing to say in his defense. He is wound too tight and he knows it but it's who he is. Lost in his head and socially awkward, literally too smart for his own good. Yeah, he knows. He also knows sharing a room with Derek means he won't get any sleep tonight. He thanks whatever gods are watching for at least giving them two queen-sized beds and disappears into the bathroom. When he comes back out, after washing his hands 10 times to kill a few minutes and give himself a breather, Derek is under the covers on his bed, hands behind his head, watching some late night talk show. Spencer walks gingerly over to his bed, debating whether or not to undress before slipping under his own covers.

"You avoid me by spending 15 minutes in the bathroom washing your hands then watch me out of the corner of your eye before going to your bed. Now you're trying to decide if you should sleep in your clothes…Have I said or done something to make you afraid of me, Spencer?" Derek questions, his voice slightly tinged with hurt.

"No! I-"

"Are you afraid of someone seeing your body?"

"Derek-"

"I'd understand if you were. Some days I'm glad I don't live with anyone…But I always thought we were friends…" Derek's eyes look black in the shadows of the tv.

For a second Spencer's thought process literally stalls. He can't think of a thing to respond with because suddenly he has this need to kiss Derek. Knowing a little of the man's history, knowing his own, it's a bad idea. A really bad idea. His lips, though, look soft and inviting, sensual. He's never taken the time to notice lips before. Not even when he was kissed three times in his teens. Of course, those three times were against his will by gangs of girls playing practical jokes. This is different. This is Derek. A grown up. A man. A respected colleague. All he wants to do is lie down next to him and get lost for a while.

"I'm sorry," he sighs finally after several seconds of silence. He forces himself to turn away from the other man and strip down to his boxers. He then puts on his pajama top and bottoms and gets under the covers of his bed. His heart is pounding so loud he wonders if Derek can hear it.

"You happen to have a nice body, you know," Derek tells him softly. Spencer freezes, unsure of what Derek's motives were, unsure of his meaning.

"On a cultural anthropological scale my body type would be at the bottom and yours would be at the top," he blurts, groaning inwardly as soon as the words leave his mouth. Can he be any more obvious?

"This isn't about cultural anthropology, Spencer. This is about you and me. And I happen to think you're very desirable."

Spencer Reid was speechless before. Now he's…He's so far gone he can't even begin to think of the proper terminology for what he's experiencing. The only thing he understands is that Derek's watching him, seemingly waiting for something, and he's blushing from head to toe.

"Hey, Pretty Boy, I shouldn't have said that. I apologize."

"You d-didn't m-m-mean it?" he stutters. He should stop the blurting. It's a nasty habit. And it's one he doesn't think will be clearing up anytime soon.

"No, I mean it. It just wasn't my intention to scare you. Or make things awkward between us." Derek shuffles around in his bed. Spencer can feel the sudden stare right through him, lighting him up from the inside out. "You really can't see it, can you? The women, and men, who check you out when we're on a case. The appreciative looks you get." It sounds like an average, everyday conversation. But it's not. This fact is not lost on either one of them.

"…We should try to get some sleep. We'll have to be up early tomorrow. You know how Hotch is…" He turns on his side to face the window, his back to the man he's fighting not to want.

"This isn't over, Spencer. You know that, don't you?" Derek's tone is intense, commanding, leaving no room for argument.

Spencer takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, closing his eyes. "I know," he replies quietly. Derek pushes until he gets results. Whether he should or not. Whether the other person wants him to or not. This is just part of what makes him so good at his job. "Goodnight."

"Sweet dreams…"

The phrase held a hint of gentleness, of love. Spencer's eyes pop back open involuntarily. He definitely won't be getting any sleep tonight.


End file.
